Minefield
by Odyssion
Summary: They have learned to sidestep the issues of their pasts, but one sometimes forgets where all the landmines are. Kazahaya, Rikuo, and the nuances they have grown accustomed to in each other.


**Minefield**

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Legal Drug. That would be the lovely ladies at Clamp, who would be even more magical if they would release the last volume of this terrific manga.

_Author's Notes: _Because I haven't written a serious Legal Drug story yet, and because the undertone of the manga is so serious. Rikuo and Kazahaya have always been the fun couple to me, and their relationship seemed simple until I started to question how much they really knew about each other. Anyway, that was the main idea, and reviews are greatly appreciated!

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There are some unwritten rules between them, things they both know not to talk about even if the two of them share the knowledge. Kazahaya knows never to ask Rikuo about his tattoos, even though he has accidentally walked in on his roommate once and witnessed those patterns in more than just memories. This knowledge means that neither of them comments when Rikuo still wears a long-sleeved shirt instead of a sleeveless one when all his clean t-shirts have run out, even on a hot summer's day; one of them will inevitably pick up the laundry that night, regardless of whose turn it is to do the chores. Kazahaya does not ask Rikuo why he no longer attends school when he could not possibly have graduated yet; he also never asks which school his uniform is from, if it's nearby, or why none of his school friends have come to visit. He has been rebuked by asking about family, and will not dare to mention Tsukiko's name in Rikuo's presence even though Rikuo himself has said the name out loud. There are no questions about girlfriends or past loves; this question is a smoke and mirrors trick, and they are both above those sorts of tactics.

Rikuo, for his part, dodges a few landmines of his own even though he is not half so inquisitive as his roommate. He never asks Kazahaya why he ran away from home – even where home is – or what he was doing outside such a crowded shopping mall, dying in the cold. He doesn't ask why Kazahaya has never gone to school, and the irritation that used to spring up from the other boy's lack of knowledge in commonsense things has now been replaced by a patient kind of sympathy for a childhood that was so obviously lacking. He doesn't ask, mostly, why Kazahaya has spent the first seventeen years of his life so separate from the world, chained to someone by the name of Kei.

But these things, at least, are those that Kazahaya has shared or let slip. What Rikuo cannot appreciate is the restraint that comes with knowing too much, seeing too much. He cannot know that Kazahaya has seen so far inside his mind, glimpsed some of the most private thoughts and emotions of his soul. What he doesn't know is that Kazahaya still sees the blood-splattered room in his dreams sometimes and wakes up in a cold sweat, glancing at Rikuo sleeping fitfully on the bunk beside his. Rikuo does not appreciate Kazahaya's subtlety because he doesn't know it exists. Every day that another memory from him finds its way into Kazahaya's mind, the burning questions that are pushing their way up the paler boy's throat gather power, build pressure, threaten to overflow. Rikuo cannot understand why that look of quiet desperation sometimes crosses his roommate's face even as both their minds are racing toward the same memory. Kazahaya wants to ask why Rikuo is working for Kakei, under what circumstances he has been enlisted as a live-in employee and what it is that Saiga seems to be searching so ardently for. He wants to know, more than anything, all of what Kakei seems to know and is holding back, know the truth about their entwined paths and how their little assignments will both get them where they need to be. Kazahaya thinks always of these things as he watches Rikuo sleep, the sleeve of his shirt rolled up just enough to reveal the inked skin underneath.

Now he has these thoughts even when his body is active. Rikuo is at the dining table reading his regular morning paper and Kazahaya is entrenched in the aroma of eggs and oil. When the toast pops up he sets the slices on the plates and butters them, puts the eggs on the side and brings the finished product over for their consumption. Mugs of coffee and glasses of orange juice are already littering the eating surface and Kazahaya is more than slightly annoyed when Rikuo doesn't move to help him clear some space, causing him to knock steaming cocoa onto the floor.

"Damn it." The sounds of an accident bring Rikuo out of his reverie and he stares at Kazahaya with vague amusement.

"Clumsy, aren't we?" he chuckles as he puts the paper down, moving to grab some rags.

Kazahaya scowls, unappeased. "It wouldn't have killed you to help me instead of reading that damn newspaper," he says loudly, picking up the coffee mug and setting it back on the table. "It's not as if you even like it."

They both freeze when these words leave his mouth. He has mapped the major nuances in the minefield of their relationship but has forgotten some of the minor details, forgotten what he is supposed to be ignorant about. There are too many secrets within him and he no longer remembers clearly which have been revealed. Rikuo returns to hand him the cloths, never saying a word.

"I'm sorry," Kazahaya says as he accepts them. "I'm sorry I said that. And I'll—I'll get you another mug of coffee…"

Rikuo resumes his position in his chair, newspaper poised. "You know, someone used to tell me that I worry too much," he says quietly, pulp paper and black ink obscuring his face. Kazahaya looks up at this, recalls his first vision of Tsukiko when Rikuo expresses his indifference to the reading of newspapers, when she calls him a worrywart, when things weren't as convoluted as they are now.

"You worry too much, Kazahaya. Everything's just fine."

And Kazahaya just smiles, because that's as close to admission and forgiveness as Rikuo's going to get and they both know it. He finishes cleaning the mess, pours out some more coffee, and they both finish breakfast fast enough to arrive just in time to open the store.

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**END**


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